The Right Words
by Dreamnorn
Summary: "I'm going to prove to him that I HAVE learned Spanish!" In which Romano makes certain Spanish mistakes that, in retrospect, may have not been so bad after all. Twoshot or tentative threeshot, first Lovino's then Antonio's POV. Rated T for language.
1. The Italian Perspective

_This was inspired as I was flipping through a book on Spanish grammar mechanics that my mom gave me the other day. The book had examples of common mistakes students might make that might seem okay to us in theory (for example, __**estoy embarasada**__ looks like "I'm embarrassed," right?), but could make things awkward or uncomfortable when it's misinterpreted in this way and spoken to a native speaker (__**estoy embarasada**__ actually means "I'm pregnant"). Then I imagined Romano making these kinds of mistakes in front of an easily-confused Spain, consulted my friends, and came to the conclusion that this had to be done._

_Two-shot of the same "incident," if you will, with this chapter in Romano's point-of-view and the next one in Spain's.__ Reading both chapters is recommended to fully understand what's going on. At the bottom there will be English translations of what Romano/Spain were really saying, as opposed to what Romano interpreted. Enjoy!_

_**EDIT: Now that the Spain chapter is up, you can read from either perspective first without altering the experience. The story should work when read either way.**  
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><p>The Right Words<br>_Lovino's Perspective_

Let me set one thing straight, okay: I'm not a fucking romantic. I don't read shitty gay vampire fluff and gush over soap operas and think through the process of meeting my "true love" someday like some kind of _girl,_ complete with riding off into the sunset on a hot Spanish bu—_a noble steed, damn it,_ because that's dumb and unrealistic and just not _me._

Got that?

Good.

I'm also not the most friendly nation out there. I'm a cruel bastard, cruel to everyone I meet or have known for years, cruel even when it comes to the man that I lo—err, don't entirely hate.

…

Right.

But yeah. I'm mean. Not just kid-stealing-your-lunch-money mean, but borderline _malevolent_ sometimes. I torment my _impossibly gay_ younger brother (_God,_ why is he so _gay?_) and his potato bastard lover (goddamn German) and that moron who's putting like an old lady in front of my car (I hope you go deaf from my loudass horn, bitch). I don't give a shit about anyone, and nobody gives a shit about me. And that's just the way I like it! I don't care what anyone thinks! Not anyone!

…Quit looking at me like that. It's creepy.

…

Okay, so maybe I _kind of_ wonder what _one_ person thinks, but just because I've dealt with the bastard for so long that it's hard not to imagine what the hell he thinks of me, damn it. Not that I care.

Only… I do care. A lot. M-more than I should.

Because, I guess… even under all these fucking cusswords and frowns and rude gestures… th-there's a heart there. It's small and shriveled, damn it, but it's there.

… I… He showed me it was there…

But not intentionally. Fuck no. That bastard doesn't know intentional _jack._

I probably shouldn't complain about my brother's (_unbelievably flamboyant, what the fuck_) gayness. I'm gay too. Most nations are, because most nations are _men,_ men who for the most part want to live and love and seek a partner who can stay by their side for centuries to come. That's just the logical thing to do! If we were all _straight,_ we'd be damned to a short relationship with a (pretty much certainly) human lover who'd grow old and die before our eyes while we stay young and live for decades longer. Tell me that wouldn't suck! That's also taking into account that there are what, only six female countries in a world of _over one hundred sixty _of us? Cut us some slack, here; we work with what we're given.

For the longest time I told myself that I _was_ straight, and that I should only flirt with ladies for the thrill of the chase and not for a permanent love because in country terms, all humans are _flings,_ and that the Spanish bastard I lived with was just being stupid and childish whenever he said I looked like a tomato or pinched my cheeks or h-hugged me or… h-held me tight whenever there was thunder… and whispered in my ear that everything was all right… and that he was there and… and then… I could sleep.

…

Shut up. Thunder is a manly thing to be afraid of, damn it.

…

It took me a long time to finally figure out I loved the bastard. Longer than it probably should have because I was being too stubborn and cantankerous and _me,_ but… I-I guess everything finally made sense. Like how every dumb or c-caring word he said would make me feel lightheaded, how I never wanted to see him lose the happy and sweet and loving and _oh lord that sounds so gay_ glow in his dark green eyes…

And… and how I couldn't live without him. It's only when he's by my side that I can feel my (pitiful, stupid) heart drumming, and as soon as he leaves my chest is sore like someone ripped it out, just to see me in pain.

…

Did I just imply that I feel he _is_ my heart?

That's… that's…

…

Ugh.

For one of the most unromantic personified nations on earth, I sure am hopelessly devoted to him. To the country of passion, and every smile he's given me and every sincere sparkle in his eye. I… l-love Spain. Antonio. M… _My_ Antonio.

And it's about time I showed him, damn it.

_~ The Right Words ~_

So how exactly was I going to do that?

Unlike my little brother (screw you, Feliciano), I wasn't blessed with any of the artistic aspects of our nation. He can draw, paint, and sing, and I have a feeling that he used some of those ass-kicking Italian traits to win over Mr. Potato Head. While I can cook (an Italian isn't Italian if they can't cook, damn it), Antonio _blasphemously_ isn't a fan of my country's cuisine. Makes me wonder how the fuck I fell in love with him in the first place.

A-anyway, I decided I'd try Plan B – helping him around his house. The other day, out of the fucking _goodness_ in my heart, I went outside to pick some tomatoes with him and he was g-grinning at me with his brilliant, toothy, _mind-blowing_ smile and I… I didn't pay attention to what I was doing… and I s-squashed a tomato in my hands. _Hard._

I yelled at Antonio for distracting me and stormed inside, leaving a depressive Spaniard gazing sadly after me.

I'm such a fucking charmer. Seriously. There aren't enough o's in "smoooooooth."

…That was sarcasm, by the way.

So today I'm going to try Plan C – making him feel appreciated. E-even though my first attempt at this plan failed epically when I tried to thank him and stuttered so much that Antonio laughed and called me an "adorable little tomato" (how the _fuck_ am I a _tomato?_). I kicked him in the shins for that. So now I bet you're wondering what the hell I planned after that backfired so insanely. Well, I'll _tell _you. I'm going to show him I _have_ learned some Spanish after all!

That's right. The overly-simplistic, Latin-based language of Spain. Which, by the way, I know nothing of besides _bésame,_ and no matter _how_ much I want to say that, I'm not going to such _girly_ heights to get his attention, d-damn it.

But when I was a younger country, Antonio always tried to teach me some conversational Spanish. So… so maybe, if I spoke to him _in_ Spanish instead of whatever-the-fuck common language we countries speak, he'd notice that I "cared" enough to learn something. F-for him.

…Gay. Gay gay gay gay _gay._

At least if things go well, I can use that as a stepping stone for when I finally _grow a goddamn spine_ and tell him I love him. And if things don't, he'll probably find it funny or cute or something and be on his merry way. It's a win—not-lose situation.

…

Here's to be too optimistic and hope, I guess.

_~ The Right Words ~_

Went to the library and checked out a book on Spanish grammar and rules _para niños,_ as well as a little dictionary. I browsed through the first few pages and felt like laughing. Spanish is too fucking _easy!_ But even if it's a cheesy Italian rip-off (Italian came first, damn it!), it's Antonio's language and an important aspect of his culture. I should respect it!

Shit, that's going to be tough.

…B-but it'll be worth it.

Okay. I'll have to call him over here, but I'll have to do so in my _forcefully manly_ way because I'm _so_ not polite and I might as well be consistent personality-wise in any language I speak. I picked out a few words that would work, literally meaning "I want you here" but should mean "get your ass here _right now_" the way I'll say it. The "right now" part is always implied, damn it.

With that set up, I should pick an easy conversation topic. What do people talk about when they have nothing to say?

…

Of course! The weather!

It's summertime up here, and damn me if it isn't the hottest time of the year. I looked up the Spanish word for "hot" and added that to my little mental toolbox of Spanish shit.

After ten more minutes of reviewing the basics, I felt ready to begin.

So I did.

_~ The Right Words ~_

I was probably going a little too fast down the stairs, fast enough that I almost knocked over Antonio's painting of a sleeping turtle, but I couldn't possibly care less. My blood felt like it was on fucking _fire,_ whipping through me with a burning confidence I never knew I had.

It was scary.

But also kind of _exciting._

I was ready. Ready to show Antonio that I c-cared, that I can do things right.

Racing through the kitchen, I found the huge sliding backdoor leading to the garden and looked to see if he was there. Sure enough, the adorab—_stupidly oblivious_ bastard was out there, tending to the plants and wearing his dumbass straw hat that, for some reason, he thought looked _stylish._

The _horror._

…S-still, it was kind of nice just standing here, watching him work like that just before the sun set on a hot summer night. You could tell how much pride he took in his plants, from the roses to the marigolds to (of course) the tomatoes, just by watching how c-careful he was with every movement. He always smiled while he gardened. It almost made me want to smile, too…

_Damn it! Focus, Lovino!_

I shook my head, mentally slapping myself awake. I had to remember my goal. Keep your mind on track, you retarded yet _fiendishly cunning _bastard!

That made sense. Don't pretend it didn't.

…

Shut the hell up.

My eyes followed his hands as they picked up a tomato from his basket. He lifted it to his mouth, taking a bite. I heard a soft crunching noise as his teeth breached the fruit, juice sliding down his chin. I swallowed, feeling the blood rush to my face as I gathered my nerves. B-but it's not like I was inwardly babbling at myself to calm the hell down over and over and _over_ again like some panicking girl who had been expecting a date to arrive and just heard the doorbell ring.

Really. Not at all.

Okay, maybe a little.

…Okay, maybe a _lot._

Finally, I bit my lip, telling myself it was now or never, and blared, "¡Antonio, te quiero así!"

Almost immediately, he spat out his tomato and his head snapped to face me, eyes confused and curious and shocked as he stared at—no, fucking _studied_ my Italian _majesty._

Oh yes. This could work.

…

…

W-what was taking him so long to answer, anyway?

_~ The Right Words ~_

It felt like an eternity until he finally spoke.

"What?"

I scoffed. I should have known it would take him this long to connect the dots, the bastard. Still speaking his native tongue, I retorted, "Me oíste." _You heard me._

A concerned look came across his face. Antonio put down his tomatoes (d-don't leave them out in the sun, you ass!) and paced quickly over to where I hovered in the middle of the backdoor. His glittering green eyes (_damn, _why do they have to _sparkle _like that?) were glossed with worry as he took off one of his gloves and placed a hand on my forehead l-like I was some kind of sick child. I gasped a little. My face was probably glowing from that _gay incandescent_ blush I had plastered across my cheeks. B-but I frowned at him, _defying_ his sweet touch.

"Lovi, ¿estás bien?" Antonio asked, this time responding in Spanish like I thought he would in the first place.

That means "how are you," right? Yes! Now I can talk about the weather! In Spanish!

Like a _mafia _boss, motherfucker!

Exaggeratedly fanning my face (just to make sure the dumbass could understand what I was about to tell him), I panted, "Estoy muy caliente, Antonio."

…

Holy shit.

Was the bastard actually _blushing back at me_ like some scared _virgin?_

…

Damn. I was _good._

…

Fuck. I was worried.

"T-Tonio," I huffed, my cheeks still bright red, "quit staring at me, you dumbass."

He blinked as if he was waking up after a long siesta, an unusually _relieved_ sigh escaping his lips. His eyes smiled almost more than his mouth did as he _yanked_ (when the hell did he learn how to _yank_ things?) off his god-awful hat and placed it on a hook. "Lo siento," he apologized.

…W-woah there. He's getting awfully clo—

"R… ¿realmente tienes ganas, Lovi?"

Do I have desires? What kind of fucking question was _that?_

Antonio pulled me in a close hug, so close that there were few to no spaces between our bodies anymore. A foreign pressure began build in my stomach. In spite of the heat _radiating_ between us, I felt myself shivering. W-what did I do to make him act like this? To… to _hold_ me like this? Almost like he…

…Like he loved me too…

After a short pause, I replied, "S-supongo, sí." _I suppose, yes._

"¿De quién?" _Of who?_

…

_B… Bésame._

N-no matter how gay that sounds, even if that makes _no fucking sense_ as a goddamn answer, that's what I would have said if I could speak… but with all this contact, under this loving stare, I couldn't do it.

But by the feel of his tender, electrifying lips against mine moments later, Antonio could tell what I was saying, even when I was saying nothing at all.

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><p><em>Translation time!<em>

_**Te quiero así**__ means "I love you as you are." The Spanish word __**querer**__ can mean "to love" or "to want" depending on the circumstance. What Romano was going for was __**te quiero aquí,**__ which means "I want you here." __**Aquí**__ and __**así**__ are often mistaken for each other among students learning the language._

_**Estoy caliente**__ means "I'm hot," but not in the way Romano interpreted it. __**Estoy caliente**__ is used to imply a sexual heat, so a more appropriate translation is "I'm turned on." What Romano was trying to say was __**tengo calor,**__ which literally means "I have heat," but is used to say you're physically warm or hot._

_**Tienes ganas**__ means "you have desires," and that's how Romano literally takes it when Spain asks him that question. However, he didn't recall that it should be __**tienes ganas de (infinitive), **__which would mean "you desire to (insert verb here)." In its infinitive form, to say __**tener ganas **__without the __**de**__ and subsequent infinitive roughly means "to (romantically) desire someone."_

_I'll post up the Spain version of this situation as soon as I can. Reviews are always loved. Thanks for reading!_


	2. The Spanish Perspective

_Here's part two of our story, told in the point-of-view of our favorite Spaniard. Everything in italics within a dialogue was Spanish in the first part, but will be English here because Antonio can interpret it as it is. Enjoy!_

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><p>The Right Words<em><br>Antonio's Perspective_

Whenever I look out the window absentmindedly, my thoughts wander to him. He's always there in the glass, pouting and glaring and calling me a bastard. But that's okay, because then his face gets red and adorable and just so _cute_ that I want to hug him and never let go. It doesn't matter what important things were on my mind before, or if I strove to stay on track; there's no point in trying. Resistance is futile—just like if he was an alien trying to conquer the world!

Actually, he _does_ have that weird little hair curl on his head that looks like an antenna. Maybe he _is_ an alien! A cute frowning tomato-eating alien with chestnut hair and misty hazel eyes and sneaky little hugs that he gives me from behind.

Awwww… so cute, Lovi… so sweet.

…

Haha, you should see your face! You look so funny right now!

…

Oh, I get it. It's because I'm a _guy,_ right? And that you would expect a girl to talk about a boy like this, right? Please don't think like that. I love my Lovi, but not _that_ way_._ I practically raised him. He's been living under my roof for centuries now, ever since Austria gave him to me when he was just a child country.

…But I truly _have_ loved him for a long time, ever since he showed me that somewhere in his heart… he needed me… but I don't think I could love him as anything but a son….

…

You don't look very convinced, do you? Hehe, well, I confess, I'm not really all that convinced either.

We can be confused buddies! Yaaaaay~! How does that sound?

…P-please don't look at me that way! I'm not a creepy pedophile, honest! Even if we used to look at least fifteen years apart, now he's just a little younger than me in country years. I certainly haven't grown any older, so now we're both adults in our mid- to late twenties (relative to human age). And when he was a kid, I swear, I only ever loved him as a son.

Lovino… he was such a grumpy little boy. I could tell back then that he had a heart of gold, even if he chose to hide it behind apathy, frustration, and swearing. He has quite the potty mouth and temper! He cusses whenever he gets upset (a third of the time); irritated (a third of the time); or angry (rarely, when it's genuine).

What lies underneath all that, though, is what makes Lovi _Lovi_. It's something real, a sensitivity and compassion and fear of being abandoned by his loved ones. He struggles when I hug him and tries to push me away, but I know that he likes to be held and reassured that he isn't alone. He calls me a bastard more often than my name or even my country title of Spain, but I know that somewhere in his heart, he appreciates who I am and what I do. He swears at me and kicks me in the shins and blushes like crazy when I tell him (truthfully!) how cute he is, but I do it anyway. Part of me feels obligated to remind him just how special he is… in a _good_ way.

My best friends, Gilbert and Francis, often ask me why I haven't forced Lovino to move. "He's old enough to leave," they argue, "You can easily kick him out. Then he'll be out of your hair and live in Italy with his brother. Romano is rude and ungrateful and totally _not awesome!_ Why do you let him stay?"

In response, I smile and say, "Because he needs me."

They never understand, but they don't have to. It's a secret, something accepted, unspoken, between Lovi and me. I'm the only person allowed to see him cry, and even though he calls me a "fucking retarded stupidass bastard," I'm the only person allowed to pull him close and hug him. I'm also the only one who knows the little things he likes (walks in the garden, siestas in the sun, a hand holding his…) and the little things he dislikes (his ringtone, waking up early, over-salted foods…). I memorized all his quirks and all his body language to the point where I can tell the difference from one frown to the next. Although he denied everything, he also confided in me the things that scare him, and I'm the only one he lets comfort him when he's afraid….

…

I'm… I'm even… I'm even the one and only person, human or nation, he ever _smiles_ to. His genuine smiles, not his I'm-macho-and-you-know-it smirk or his trying-to-be-nice-to-the-potato-bastard-and-annoying-little-brother grimace. No, his _real_ smiles are few and far between, but… he only ever shares them… with _me_…

My God… I would _die_ for those smiles…

…

Ahaha. I'm sorry. I'm probably boring you now, right? I always get so carried away when I talk about my love—

…M-my Lovi. Not love. Lovi.

Lovi is 'love' with an 'i' at the end, you know! Haha, what a silly mistake I made~!

…

Who am I kidding?

We both know that, even if he rarely says it out loud, he needs me. But how will I let him know just how much _I_ need him, too?

I've had a bloody past. A past of war and violence and hate. A past of my own colonies growing up to revile me. A past of rude dirtbags like England and the Netherlands beating me up when they saw opportunities to do so. A past of being a broken man, damned to live for centuries in pain…

But I knew he was there, waiting for me to come home: the grumpy child who hated me gone; the young adult who'd linger by the door and claim he was only passing by when I walked in; and now the best friend who chides me and flips me off for taking so long before storming away and later—much, much later—giving me a hug when he thought I was sleeping and wouldn't feel his gesture of affection.

So yes, I've loved him for a long time, ever since he showed me that somewhere in his heart he needed me… and that somewhere in _my_ heart, something I used to think didn't even exist, _I_ needed him too.

But how will I ever show him?

_~ The Right Words ~_

Well, the answer sure wasn't going to come to me by staring out the window! Hahaha~!

It was a really pretty day out there, though. A summertime afternoon in the garden, with sun bathing the flowers and fountain and tomatoes and—

O-ohmygosh, the tomatoes! Lovino will never forgive me if I don't pick them soon. Then they'll be all overripe and nasty and we can't have them for snacks. If there's one thing Lovi and I have in common, it's that we _adore_ tomatoes. They're the best fruit/vegetable/edible plant thing ever!

…Wait a minute. Maybe I should go out and pick some for him! Yeah! I know for sure I can't go wrong with some delicious, home-grown tomatoes. He loves my tomatoes best of all. (And that's not even bragging, since it's true~!)

Humming, I strode to the door and gathered my lucky gardening gloves. I call them lucky because whenever I go out and garden with them, the flowers become as beautiful as the gloves are filthy. I wouldn't want to wash away their spectacular gardening magic, would I? That would mean bad luck! That could foretell something terrible, like… umm…

Evil giant monster turtle invasion! Firing killer tomato cannons!

Of _doom!_

…Or I might lose my favorite hat. I can't enter my backyard without it, even if Lovi says I look like a dumbass wearing it. It protects my eyes from the sun so well.

Yes… I should grab my hat too, now that I think about it. Haha, I can be so spacey sometimes~!

_~ The Right Words ~_

The moment I stepped outside and felt the mild Spanish sun on my shoulders, I felt as though I had been liberated. Divine warmth filled me from head to toe, sending a tickling shiver along my back. I took a deep breath. _In, out._ I could taste the peace, the hazy and comfortable atmosphere. Everything was right with the world.

Well… almost. Something was missing.

Should I invite Lovi out here? I mean, I know that I thought it would be a nice surprise if I picked tomatoes for him, but gardening is never as much fun alone.

And he'd appreciate me picking them anyway… even if he was here right alongside me.

…

I think I will.

But of course, the moment I turned to look through the transparent backdoor—which, by the way, provides a direct view of the _front_ door across the hall—I could see my darling little Lovino yanking the front door open and zipping out at high speed.

…Ahaha. Oh dear.

I guess I'll just have to go with Plan A and giving the tomatoes as a surprise.

I'm not sure if I'm happy or sad about that…

_~ The Right Words ~_

Forty minutes or so passed uneventfully. I was mostly busy checking the tomatoes along the trellis in my yard to see which ones were ripe or not.

It was… boring.

Don't get me wrong— I love walking in the gentle Spanish sunshine and taking in the warmth of a clear afternoon sky. I love picking tomatoes with the anticipation that I'll get to enjoy them later. I even love finding tomatoes with bad spots, because then I get to pretend to be a tomato doctor and heal them. (_What's that, little tomato? You look so dirty. Let me wash that off~!_)

But… I was just so… _lonely._

It wasn't even necessarily the loneliness that hurt me as much as everything outside reminded me of my adorable little Lovino. The sunlight through the leaves and branches of the trees created a light hazel color that reminded me of his beautiful, shimmering eyes. The warmth of the sun wasn't the cozy blanket it usually was; instead I was warmed by the memory of every lingering touch he gives, like when he holds my hand when he thinks I'm not paying attention. Even the tomatoes and their dark rosy hues reminded me of my Lovi and the way he blushes in that exact same color.

Ahh, why? Why does he have to be so adorable?

…

I… I really miss him.

Wherever he went, I hope he'll be back soon…

_~ The Right Words ~_

Then something strange happened. _Very_ strange. In a strangely good way!

Well, about forty five (dull and sad) minutes later, I came across this absolutely _lovely_ tomato growing on one of the highest vines. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. It looked amazing, perfect to make into marinara, or bruschetta, or paella, or eat raw.

Raw…

Haha, my growling tummy liked that idea~!

I reached to pick it, standing on my tippy-toes before gently grasping it in my hand. Ooh, it _felt_ nice, too! With a soft snap, I plucked it right from the vine and stared at it for a moment, marveling at its soft skin and deep color. It looked _fantastic,_ I tell you. It was all I could do to not gobble it down right then and there!

So I took a bite. It was just as good as it looked.

You're probably wondering how that's the strange and exciting thing, right? Well, ahaha, that actually wasn't it. It's what happened _after_ I started eating that caught me completely and utterly by surprise.

"_Antonio, I love you as you are!_"

I spat out that tomato piece as though it was gruel.

_~ The Right Words ~_

I recognized that deep, accented voice immediately.

Lovino. My Lovino. My _Lovi_.

Claiming that he… that…

…

N-no, don't get too happy, Antonio, don't you even _dare_ get way, way, _way_ too happy with all these beautiful wonderful amazing spectacular perfectly-perfect thoughts~!

He spoke Spanish! To_ me!_ And said he loved me! To _me!_ Even though I know by now he thinks I'm a bastard! To _me!_

That made sense~! Ahahaha~!

I could have _died_ right there, I really could have, what with my heart thundering like it was a shivering bomb about to explode in _three, two, one, KABOOM!_ I could have run to him and kissed him, kissed him like my very life depended on it, kissed him until I collapsed from the most _blissful_ suffocation _ever,_ but…

…I didn't.

Saying something directly and honestly without blushing and stuttering ever-so-cutely isn't like Lovino. No. Not like him at _all._

And there he was at the door, the proud glint in his eyes dimming and his tiny smile slowly curling downwards as I didn't answer him because I was too _stunned_ to even _think._

…I'd better do something. Now.

He's waiting for me.

_~ The Right Words ~_

"What?" I finally answered, speaking in the common tongue.

In a very Lovino-esque manner, he rolled his eyes at me in that dismissive way he always does. I felt a little relieved… but not really.

"_You heard me,_" he scoffed, answering in Spanish again.

H-ha… hahaha…

This was really weird. This whole thing was really, really weird.

And then it came to me: what if he was sick or something? That had to be it! I just _had_ to check and make sure he was okay.

I dropped my basket of tomatoes and walked to where he stood, half inside the house and half outside. I placed the back of my hand on his forehead. Funny, his temperature seemed normal enough… and so did the _cute, adorable _little gasping noise he made… and so did his sweet little blushing cheeks….

But I had to ask him myself. If he was sick, I needed to know how to help him, so I could cure him and make him happy again… even… even if that meant he'll never say 'I love you' ever again.

…Oh… oh well…

In Spanish I asked, "_Lovi,_ _are you okay?_"

Then, if you can believe it, something even _weirder_ happened!

Lovino started fanning himself. V-very _heatedly,_ with half-lidded eyes and flushing cheeks, and I could have sworn that he _moaned_ out what he said next, and I… I just couldn't believe what I was seeing and hearing.

"_I'm so turned on, Antonio._"

…

Aha…

…S-s-so many mixed messages. Haha… m-maybe _I'm_ the sick one…

Lovi obviously noticed the look I got on my face (not that I would know what it was like, because I was too busy trying to stop the chaos and disorder that clattered around my head) because he immediately stopped the funny thing he was doing with the fanning and the panting and the _adorably sexy_ behavior and stuttered, "T-Tonio, quit staring at me, you dumbass."

I blinked slowly and looked him over one more time, taking off my gloves and placing them on a hook. A relieved smile stretched across my face as I sighed, gazing at the not-sick country right in front of me.

_There's_ the Lovi I loved. The Lovi I loved who, maybe, possibly, hopefully… loved me back.

He prickled a little as I came a little closer and asked, "_Do you really want love?_"

I hugged him tightly, feeling his small body tense against mine. He was so close that I felt I was almost going to be enveloped by his perfect, perfect warmth…

"_Yes, I suppose,_" was his shaky answer.

I had to know. To know if these feelings were mutual, to know if I could tell him I loved him and know that he would say he loved me too. "_From whom?_"

Maybe I should have waited for him to say something, but I didn't feel he had to. The look he gave me with his deep hazel eyes, that beautiful, honest expression on his bright red face, spoke more words than I could possibly imagine.

I kissed him for the first time that day. I never wanted it to end.

* * *

><p><em>I was tentatively thinking of turning this into a threeshot… what do you guys think?<em>

_**1. Would you like there to be a third chapter to conclude the story?**_

**_2. If so, whose perspective should I write it in? Lovino's or Antonio's? Third-person?_**

_Reviews are still love. Thank you for reading!_


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